Old McDonald had a Farm...

Chapter Seven

Betty shrieked with laughter, sounding more like the high-pitched wail of a disturbed banshee or some similar horror of the imagination rather than a vastly amused woman in her late middle years. Her raucous outburst disturbed the occupants in the adjoining field, for a flock of largish-looking birds rose en mass at the sound, wheeled above us and sped off towards the low hills, making almost as much noise as she had as I threw a reproachful look at her.

"Nettles, fucking nettles, are you kidding me!" Bessie cackled still at considerable volume. "Nettles, oh my! The silly boy is worried about nettles!"

I scowled at her, resenting both the 'silly boy' bit and the accompanying hilarity I'd caused. I was being considerate and thoughtful, wasn't I? Conscious of my charge's well-being! After all,  I considered myself to be something of a gentleman, always polite, rarely swore and invariably the first to stand and give up my seat on the underground to a needy individual. It didn’t matter whether they were aged, young, pregnant, disabled or whatever. I was always the first to offer my seat. I was a nice person, a conscientious, civilised individual, an English gentleman, was I not?

Or had been as I looked at the whip in my hand and then at the two ponies I'd recently if a little hesitantly, used it upon, wondering if I was now disqualified from that entitlement. I concluded I wasn't. Why should my life be any different now from how it had been? No reason I wasn't the one who'd undergone a major, indeed, massive lifestyle change was I, unlike the unfortunate pair in front of me, Cream and Damson. I'd be heading home in a few days, back to London, my small comfortable flat, my job, giving up my seat on the tube. A life or normality, whereas for them, this was their new normality! A terrible normality of toil and suffering under the cruel whips of their owners, reduced to the status of animals and kept in the most atrocious conditions, they were…

"Hey, Dozy! Yes, you! Stand about dreaming in your own time, not mine. At this rate, we'll still be here in the middle of next week now list…NO, Stand Still, you fucking animal!"

Bessie's whip flew out, and Peaches squealed mutley as the thin braided leather curled around her flank and bit into her right breast. Those mouth bits, I'd surmised, were as much a reminder of their dumb animal status as to keep them permanently muted. They could and did make a certain amount of involuntary noise, but I'd yet to hear any attempt at comprehensible human speech from them.

Again, you didn’t need to be a famous detective or even an amateur sleuth to deduce why that was and who was responsible. Bessie glared at me from a dozen yards away at the edge of the field. She shook her whip and then pointed it down at the furrow her team had ploughed. It was her third since we'd started and was as straight as the other two, which was more than could be said about the two I'd completed. ‘Sort of straightish in an almost acceptable squiggly manner', her words, not mine.

My third had been forestalled by a large clump of vegetation, chiefly green nettles, and I'd halted, unsure how to proceed. On one side was the fresh-turned earth from Bessie plough, and on my right was the as yet pristine, unturned, unbroken covering of the small field. If I swerved around that clump, I would a) be leaving it untouched and b) undoubtedly poaching onto Bessie's territory for the return leg. My brain had told me what to do, of course, but even so, I'd hesitated and paused, staring at the vegetative obstacle while Bessie easily beat me to the end of her furrow.

"For fucks sake, use your bloody whip, man! That's what it's for, not a bloody ornament!"

That impatient shout confirmed what my brain had told me to do as my pony team approached the clump of substantial greenery. I'd seen it as I'd clumsily manoeuvred the plough around to start the new leg under Bessie's impatient eye. My focus, though, was mainly on steering the damn thing while ensuring the plough blade didn't bury itself into the dirt to the point where it ceased being a plough and became an anchor. A very effective anchor! That had happened three times on the first leg and twice in my second, and it took both time and effort, not entirely all pony effort either, to extract.

I suspect that Cream and Damson thought they'd certainly hit the jackpot that morning when I'd chosen them compared to those Bessie had harnessed to her plough. Yes, I'd used the whip a few times, and boy was that a…well, a feeling I found difficult to describe. Unfortunately, to my surprise, I was also suffering from a crisis of conscience. Though I was intensely stimulated and aroused by the act of flicking that wicked leather outwards, and when my unpractised arm got it right, hearing that satisfying smack of leather upon skin along with the attendant female squeal. I was also a tad bothered as having been the one to elicit that agonised wail.

I suspected Bessie was becoming a trifle exasperated at that streak of humanity in me and my evident reluctance to enforce my will on those she no longer considered human or deserving of any compassion. This wasn't the first time I'd been told or ordered to use my whip upon them. Once we'd finished harnessing the two pairs to the ploughs, Bessie retrieved a leather whip from the rear of the cart and tossed it at me to catch. It was not quite as long nor thick as the one she was holding, but still, to my eyes, it was a pretty fearsome, vicious-looking implement.

It did feel kind of good in both an empowering and sensual way, though, when I shook it out and tried a couple of practice flicks with it against the stone wall. I noticed both my chosen ponies watching me, and suddenly that feeling I was experiencing felt even more stimulating as I gave the innocent stonework a couple more till Bessie snorted loudly and growled at me to 'stop buggering about and get a move on!'.

Once we'd manoeuvred the ploughs into place, my first attempts to motivate my pair had been pretty ineffectual. I'd probably still have been standing there on the start line if Betty hadn't sent her lash flying diagonally a couple of times to start Cream and Damson moving.

Concentrate on keeping them moving first and foremost had been her advice. "Try to keep at a slow, steady pace; the ground will vary. Use those handles and their reins to steer. The handles are limited, so keep an eye on the ponies hauling it, keep them heading straight across and try not to let the blade dig too deep. Don't look so worried; you'll soon get the hang of it. Use your whip to get them moving and keep them moving if they slow down. It's better that way, especially for them. They may be dumb animals, but they're also smart enough to know that if they stick, then their damn hides will suffer. They'll continue to suffer until they get their act together and pull the damn thing free. Like I said before, no half-measures!"

I'd stopped instinctively as we approached the patch of nettles, even hauled back slightly on the pony's reins that looped around the left handle. More an automatic subconscious act than one I'd thought about. Would they have carried on I wondered if I hadn't done that and got themselves nettled to hell. Looking at their whip-striped naked bodies, I suspected that, unlike me, they were mentally over that hurdle, for I doubted Bessie or Robbie would have stopped, and they'd probably been doing this for months. Indeed, Bessie's raucous contempt answered that question.

I'd hated nettles since I was a kid in short pants; I absolutely hated the horrible things. Bumble, bees, wasps, hornets, ants and anything else that bit or stung, no problem, but nettles, no way! It seemed every time I went out to play in the old park near our house or, more accurately, the untouched wilderness surrounding the pristine grassy areas and flowerbeds. They seemed to jump out at me at every opportunity, so I'd only look at the smallest plant to end up stung, and it damn well hurt. Maybe I was more susceptible to whatever nasty stuff they produced, but I loathed the damn things, plus the rash and little bumps lasted way longer on me than my friends.

All that flashed through my mind as I debated telling Bessie why I'd halted. My stopping wasn't entirely driven by empathy for my pony team, as she evidently assumed. I felt a touch indignant about that. I might be a total newcomer to all this…. this inhumanity and cruelty, but I wasn't an idiot, and anyway, I'd been enjoying myself up to that point. To have the control I had over the woman and girl in front, the whip in my hand and the incredible situation as a whole, Jeez! It was a good job progress across the field was relatively slow, given the monster hard-on in my pants. Long-legged ones this time, but I still suspected those damn nettles would find an entry somewhere if I went near them!

Bessie resumed her furrow and approached the end and turning point. I knew she'd glance back as soon as she did that, and if I was still dawdling half a length behind, then….!  I shook the reins and shouted, "Hup, hup, move it, move!" in full voice and, raising my right arm, let the lash fly not once but four times in quick succession. I was getting better, only one ineffectual touch but three very satisfying meaty thwacks and attendant squeals. Damson had been the unlucky one.

Bessie didn't pause, but I saw her right arm move backwards and waggle her whip approvingly at the sound of my actions as we jerked forward toward that patch of greenery. I raised my arm and amended that ineffectual blow I'd aimed at Cream, concentrating hard and putting considerably more effort into the blow. Fairs fair after all although from both the sound of the whip biting into her pony hide and the satisfying muted shriek that escaped her bit that one ought perhaps to have counted double or maybe even treble!

Bessie, I half noted, had paused, ready to start her fourth run, but was politely waiting for me to join her. Half noted because my mind had switched tracks, somewhat to my surprise, as Cream voiced her anguish at my whip stoke. For some unfathomable reason, an image of Dopey as I'd seen him on that bench shortly after my arrival popped into my mind. Why that, I pondered.

Somehow, I pictured having that big brute harnessed and helpless in front of me as I drove him to greater effort with my whip. Odd, given I'd never before had the slightest tendency towards being, now what's the word, you don't hear it very often…. homophilic, is that it? The opposite of the more familiar term homophobia. I wasn't a closet gay type, was I, so why was I getting an ever more tremendous turn-on thinking about flogging that male beast? Odd, given the two delicious bodies I had harnessed in front of me and doubtlessly both available to accommodate that growing boner in my pants regardless of their wishes. Would Bessie permit that I was wondering when her voice broke into my musings.

"Hey, whoa, hold up, boy! Put the bloody brake on and pay attention! I don't want to have to rebuild that fucking wall. Enough of them already around here needing some attention, plus look at that wiggle in your bloody wake!"

"Sorry", I grinned sheepishly, pulling hard on the reins and stopping the pair a couple of feet short of the dry-stone boundary wall. Bessie was right; I hadn't been paying attention, had I, and to use her nautical terminology, there was a very definite 'wiggle' in my wake where I'd veered off to one side immediately after what remained of the nettle patch, but somehow I'd corrected myself for the last few yards. Me subliminally or the ponies conscientiously, I wondered, not that they should have done that, of course! Should I  mention that and decided immediately against it, but not because of any soft-hearted feelings towards my two-legged charges. Bessie would probably apply some remedial correction on the spot, whereas I'd save it for later in that big punishment area adjoining the stalls. Maybe there would be a chance to add something extra afterwards. Something far more intimate, once they were appropriately secured.

Bessie scowled at me for a second and then smiled, her whole face suddenly changing, that old over hacked phrase, the sun coming out after the dark clouds, that sort of an instant change. Her even teeth showed in a big smile. She'd once told me they were still all her own and was very proud of them.' Only the six-month check-up and clean and just three fillings ever needed. Might not be as gleaming pearly white as our Yankee friends across the big pond, but how many of them still boast a completely natural set of fangs at my age, eh?'

"Don’t worry about it”, Bessie chuckled. “Pretty good for your first attempt, especially with that one.” she nodded towards Cream. “See how the animals went straight through those nettles, did you? Not one hint of hesitation, well hardly, eh?” She laughed and shook her whip. “Wins every time, and they soon learn. Besides, what are a few nettle stings compared to a thrashing from my stable cane? Amazing what pain can achieve, is it not?”

I nodded, only half listening to what she was saying. I was partly concentrating on manoeuvring my rig, if that’s the correct term, into position for the next furrow and still pondering why I should suddenly have had that fixation about Dopey. Odd, but then it wasn’t really about sex, was it but more about control. Control and power and all that went with it. Like Baby back at the house, he or was it she now, had made my cock twitch as well, hadn’t she, it, whatever!

I hadn’t even been aware of the two ponies going straight through that nettle patch, but they had, and it must have been me that caused them to veer off course, probably when I had that thought about that image of big Dopey. Interesting. I looked up “Yes?”

Bessie was staring across at me but, thankfully, not looking particularly irritated, angry or aggressive. More questioning if I was to put a name to her look.

“I was saying, don’t worry about your little hiccup over there. This is only the first go at this field to break up the sod a bit. It’s still pretty rough where we’ve been, and there’s a ton of weeds temporarily uprooted, as you can see for yourself. This is what” she looked about and then shrugged. “Oh, let’s call it an East/West run. Once it’s all finished, we’ll do a North/South run, and then one of us will go over it with the weeder. Robbie’s adapted another bit of kit so even a singleton can pull another little cart with a big tank on it that will cover several furrows at a time with weed killer. Getting into it big time, aren’t we?” she finished with a nasty laugh, letting her whip fly to catch Peaches lightly on one shoulder.”

I looked from her to the freshly turned earth, and beyond that, the cart or waggon, whatever it was called, we’d ridden driven up on. I could see Bozo lying on the ground next to it, and then I looked at the two pairs of ponies and Bessie’s grinning face, that ever-present whip in her hand that she wielded so skillfully.

I nodded thoughtfully. Getting into it? Was it possible to get ‘in’ any deeper than they already were? They were in it up to the necks, but I wondered if they could stay that way and avoid their heads going under. It was incredible after all that we stood here with the four naked and harnessed human equines in plain view, open for all to see. The wide open, uncluttered countryside was probably the key, for I’d looked on Google Maps before coming, and the area certainly wasn’t encumbered by roads, paths, tracks or habitation of any sort. Still, I wasn’t entirely comfortable now that the initial excitement at the whole amazing setup was wearing off.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was still hyped up and eager for more, a hell of a lot more and was already wondering how I could wangle an additional week out of my boss. My annual paid leave entitlement was six weeks, and I did have several weeks still owing, but good as he was, he tended to get a bit frosty about leave at short notice. I’d once heard him on the phone to a colleague who’d been knocked off his push bike that morning and was calling in sick from the hospital to say they were plastering his broken leg and he wouldn’t be in.

Suggesting the poor chap try and take a taxi when they’d finished so he could maybe work on his project for a couple of hours wasn’t exactly sick bed talk, was it? Still, when had I ever taken all my annual leave, so in that sense, he did owe me. Poor Charlie, of course; he’d been the only one in the office to get Covid. Not once but twice and still suffered from long-term covid, or so he claimed. Then again, besides ramming London black cabs on his bicycle, Chalie was always the first to catch anything going around.

“It’ll stay on your face if you keep using it”, Betty cautioned.

“Eh, what?” I blinked as my thoughts were interrupted.

“That imbecilic grin you insist on using every time your brain goes AWOL, that’s what! What’s wrong with you today? Are you getting bored with our unique livestock already?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” I laughed and shook my head as though to clear it. I gave her a big, reassuring smile. “I’m still taking everything in, all this and them.” I waved my whip hand around and towards my two ponies. “Be fair, you and Robbie have had ample time, whereas it’s all very new to me, not to mention bloody incredible, so no wonder the old brainbox is working overtime and shutting out distractions. Besides, I was wondering if I could swing a second week's holiday”.

Bessie threw her head back and roared with laughter. “Yeah, maybe. What makes you think we’d put up with you for another week anyway? Now then, ready for another one, and why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Doing that, you just did it again, looking up at the sky and all around. That’s about the fiftieth time I’ve seen you do it this morning,” she exaggerated. “No, you’re doing it again now! Give it a rest before you dislocate your damn neck!”

I was or had just glanced up at the sky, and yes, I had kept glancing around, hadn’t I? Heck, if I didn’t take care, it would soon become akin to a nervous tic, for that’s what it was. Nerves, for all my companion’s casual assurance, I felt somewhat self-conscious doing what I was doing. Given my rather shy, introverted nature, I’d probably have felt that same way to some extent in a discrete basement dungeon with a locked door. Exciting as it was, I knew I wouldn’t be comfortable until we were back in the stable or house.

“I just feel a bit…a bit vulnerable, a bit exposed, I guess,” I said sheepishly and waited for the explosion.

It didn’t come. Bessie threw a sympathetic look at me and nodded, saying, “Yes, understandable. We hardly had them out of the house and stable for the better part of two months. Heck, we were as nervous as that cat on the hot tin roof—two cats in our case and a red-hot tin roof of our own making. We even made each other jump at times until things settled down and we got used to the situation, but then,” she shrugged. “we’re isolated, not had a single visitor we didn’t know about in advance, never seen even a single hill walker and so on plus nobody knew about our reluctant guests” she stressed the word reluctant and finished with a little giggle looking in at her pony team.

“Thanks”, I nodded.

“For what?”

I grinned at her. “For being so understanding. I thought you might….”

Bessie frowned. “Might what?”

I sighed. “Sort of explode. I mean, you’ve been a bit, a bit miffy this morning, you know”.

Bessie’s jaw dropped. “Miffy, what the hell is Miffy? I’ll have you know, young man, that I am never MIFFY, whatever that is, and yes, I will, that I promise!”

I grinned at her. “Will what?”

“Fucking well explode in a mega nuclear blast if I see that gormless blank expression on your ugly fizzog one more time! Now then, how about a race to the other side but straight lines? Remember, no more damn wiggles! When I say go, okay?”

I chuckled at her eagerness. “Hey, hold your horses, bad pun fully intended. So what’s your handicap, then? How about you give me a decent start since you are four, no two months ahead of me experience-wise with this outdoor pony stuff.”

She looked at me thoughtfully, chewing on her lower lip before responding. “Mmmm, nope, well, maybe, but not a big one. Say I give you a three-yard start and toss in a little incentive.” her expression became positively lewd. “That’s quite a battering ram I spy bulging your trousers. I have got a flask of coffee over yonder in the cart. I was thinking of calling a short break. If you win, I’ll have my coffee and watch while you relieve yourself of that inconvenient bulge. Any animal you want, your choice. Front or back door, as you fancy, except our virgin girl, Damson. We’re saving her hymen for a special occasion,” she said casually blatantly, ignoring that the girl was mere feet away and her hearing doubtlessly as good as mine. Probably better, given she was quite a bit younger.

“You just did it again!”

I switched my attention from Damson back to Bessie. “Did what? Oh, look up, you mean?” For some reason, I shook my head from side to side, achieving nothing. “I can’t seem to help myself. Suppose a plane or a helicopter suddenly appears; what then?”

Bessie sighed. “The military low fly area is about eighty miles down that aways, and as for light aircraft, no airfield anywhere near us. Airlines are way too high if they even overfly us, and as for helicopters, have you ever heard of a quiet one? No, you haven’t; besides, I'm prepared like any good Boy Scout, even though I was a Girl Guide. Say one, two, three, go and watch.”

“One, two, three, go and watch!” I promptly shouted.

Bessie wasn’t the least bit fazed. She gave me a rather contemptuous snort and dived into the smallish bag I’d noted affixed to the front of her plough where the handles hinged. A moment later, she’d retrieved two folded bundles of light green-coloured silky cloth and, with practised ease, unfurled them and tossed the large squares of material over both pony teams.

She was fast and fluid, and I was impressed. One moment, the two pairs of human female equines were obvious, and then they weren’t, just two rather odd-looking shapes under that thin silk-like green covering that effectively hid most of them from view. It reminded me of a partially collapsed tent with the guy ropes slackened and just the poles holding it up. Nothing untoward to catch the eye of a casual observer whizzing past, and by the time anyone on foot had got near enough, I expect they’d have been sent off with a flea in their ear for trespassing, or maybe the team promptly moved away.

“Fast”, I commentated, impressed. “and pretty neat, almost magical like a magician's sleight of hand card trick. What the hell is that stuff?”

Bessie pulled the covers off the two teams and started folding one up. She tossed the other one to me, indicating that I do likewise. It was light and very thin, yet the material was also strong. My fingers could feel that, and my nails posed no threat to it. Many tiny ball weights were sewn into the edge hem to add weight.

“Pretty neat, eh?” Bessie chuckled. “Not perfect, but I doubt anyone would guess what we’re concealing. Would you?”

I pictured myself a hundred yards away with a rucksack on my back and the obligatory hillwalker's woolly hat on my head. Yes, I’d see something, but those coverings almost reached the ground. I might see something a little odd if I were near, but never in a million years or a million tries would I have guessed what was concealed under those strange but innocuous coverings.

“We tried a few things before we came up with this system. Ultra lightweight parachute silk, had them made specially. It takes a bit of practice, but we’re both pretty adept at covering them quickly should the need arise. It’s not real silk but some sort of artificial stuff, but it does the job, does it not?”

I nodded. “I’m beginning to feel a lot more relaxed. Have you ever needed to?” I nodded towards the waiting ponies. “I mean, use it for real?”

“Uh-huh!” Bessie shook her head and then laughed. “Just for practise like the military when they have those thingies they do every so often, what do you call them, not manoeuvres?”

“Exercises”, I suggested.

“Yeah, that’s the word I was looking for. Exercises. We both practised, and we surprised each other at times. Jump out when one of us isn’t expecting it and see how fast the other can cover them up. It's a tad childish but good practice all the same. As you noted, I’m pretty darned good, but Robbie is the opposite. On a good day, no problem, but on a bad day, well, let’s hope it’s not one of his bad days should he ever need to do it fast. Less haste, more finesse, I tell him, but it’s in one ear and out the other. He doesn’t exactly panic. He’s not the type; he seems to try too hard and fast! Now, come on. We need to give them a water break anyway.”

I nodded at her, looked at the terrain before me, and mentally readied myself, but Bessie seemed in no hurry despite her words. “It's not just water”, she added. “I make up my own, what would you call it, energy drink, I suppose. I mix water, sugar, some strong coffee grounds for caffeine, and a dash of salt. Of course, it looks like liquid mud and doesn’t taste much better!”.

I pulled a face. “I think I’d rather have just plain water. I prefer my coffee hot with milk and no sugar”.

“Bessie sniggered. “You’ve got a choice, whereas these animals haven’t! Whether they like it or not is immaterial. You can help me feed the buggers later, that’ll open your eyes! Now then, jeez, you call that tightly folded! I’ll just redo this and put these coverings away, and then we go”.

“Fair enough,” I replied, switching my attention to the four ponies. Which, I wondered, would I choose? Front or back door and the casual off-hand way she’d said, ‘as you fancy’. Sheesh, and what if one of them got pregnant? Was I supposed to take precautions? Yes, no? I looked at those sexy, soft, whip-marked bodies and then sideways at Bessie, busily refolding my untidy covering. Would she even care? I doubted it!

Again, and for no discernible reason, big Dopey flashed into my mind along with ‘front or back door’. Did I want to waste myself early? Silly question, for I was still filled with youthful vigour, was I not? I had never failed either myself or my recent girlfriends on those special nights of extended passion. I was undoubtedly pent up, for I’d not emptied my balls in over a month, not since breaking up with Esther, and that had been a doomed short-term relationship from the start.

One of those party meetups at a mutual friend's place had led to a late night, very early morning coffee at her pad and then her bedroom. It had been fun for a few weeks but would never last, as we both knew. The sex hadn’t even been that brilliant, and we’d parted amicably, but neither of us was likely to feature on the others Xmas card list.

Backdoor? I was becoming a little too fixated on that idea, wasn’t I? I’d never done it that way, and somehow, I glanced at the ponies again and then at Bessie, who was now preoccupied with her cell phone. Somehow, I couldn’t see myself doing that for the first time under her eye in a cold, damp Welsh hillside field. An image of the lingerie-clad, face-painted youth, Baby, popped into my mind. He, she, rather, was kind of cute and sexy looking, wasn’t she? Besides, what's that old saying? All cats are black in the dark, are they not?

“I’m not sure that one's much of an improvement”, Bessie interrupted my thoughts.

“Eh, what one?”

“That facial expression. You look like the proverbial cat that’s got the cream. A rather goofy-looking feline, I might add!”

I chuckled. “Quite apt, the cream-wise bit. However, I was thinking of giving rather than getting. Did you really? I paused, unsure how to pose my question; there was no way to put it politely after all. I gave a resigned half-shrug and bit the bullet. I already knew the answer but was curious about what she’d say about it.

“Did I really what?” that slightly exasperated look was back.

“When Robbie was showing them to me last night, he mentioned that you'd, er, had alternative sexual relations with Damson?”

Bessie, of course, responded with an immediate burst of raucous laughter, just as I’d suspected she would when I asked my circumspectly worded question. Her entire small, dumpy frame shook as mirth temporarily overcame her. Twice, she attempted to say something to me and twice failed before stammering out, “ Alt…alternative relations, my, that’s a good one!”

I waited patiently while the chuckles subsided, and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, regarding me with a maliciously gleeful look in her eye. “Alternative relations”, she muttered, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “Where do you think you are, Laddie? You're not having tea on the vicarage lawn with the Bishop's wife or attending a garden party at Buckingham Palace. Save your polite conversation for another day! If you mean, did I fuck the little filly in the ass, then yes, I did, and I bloody well enjoyed every second of it!”

She said it with such a snarl that I instinctively stepped backwards, my eyes simultaneously glancing towards the cute little filly in question. Was it my imagination, or had a shudder just run through Damson? Somehow, even after watching Bessie using her whip on the ponies, my mind was boggled at envisaging her doing what she had just so crudely said. I even found myself blinking in shock!

Yes, clad in a flour-sprinkled apron, baking an apple pie, serving at a stall in a church jumble sale or standing outside the local supermarket with a charity collecting tin. Bessie had always seemed that sort of a woman to me. Assaulting and sexually abusing a helpless girl two-thirds her age was an image beyond my imagination, and then I recalled the previous evening or late evening, I should say. Had I not lain awake listening to her presumably doing the same to her feminised brother, twin brother Robbie had said, hadn’t he?

“Stop that”, Bessie snapped irritably. “What got into you today? First, the dopey expressions and now you’re fluttering your eyelids at me like a lovesick butterfly; stop it! Yes, I fucked the filly good and hard and boy, did she squeal most delightfully for me! I have a…” Bessie stopped abruptly and stared suspiciously at me.

I hastily made what I intended to be a reassuring gesture with one hand and indicated for her to continue. “No, please go on. I wasn’t about to say anything”  and promptly assumed what I hoped would be taken as an eager, interested and, more importantly, non-dopey expression.

“I have an extensive collection of entertaining, amusing, assorted dildos and phalluses of the strap-on variety I’ve amassed over the years. Amusing and entertaining for me, that is, not to mention highly pleasurable due to their configuration. I only use the sort that fits both ways: a smaller internal protrusion to stimulate my clitoris and the main one to….well, perhaps to stimulate my partner would be inaccurate, at least of late!” She paused and chuckled, using the forefinger of her right hand to make an obscene gesture by moving it rapidly through the encircled thumb and forefinger of her left hand. 

I took in the gesture and its intended meaning, along with that cruel smirk on her homely face and the slow wink that went with it, even though I still found it difficult to reconcile with the woman I thought I knew, especially with that suggestive wink!

“Ask Robbie, or maybe better not ask him. Let's not embarrass him. ”. “She quickly corrected herself. “Keep it to yourself, please, but only one of us lost their virginity on our wedding night, both ends!” she finished with a wicked chuckle and another wink. “Guess who, and it wasn’t me. I’d lost mine to Billy McNeil during the school trip to London when I was thirteen! The evening after, we’d visited the Tower of London and the Houses of Parliament if I recall correctly.”

“Both ends?” I enquired, endeavouring to keep a straight face.

“Don’t be a silly boy! Do I look like the sort of woman who’d allow anyone to rear-entry me? Robbie was a bit surprised on our honeymoon, I’ll admit, but he was so randy it wasn’t hard to sweet talk him into allowing me first go, and it's been like that ever since. I even had a subbie toyboy for a while a few years back, but now” she chuckled and indicated the pony team. “Now it’s a whole different ballgame, and for the first time, I don’t have to hold back one bit and boy, does that make one hell of a difference at my end of the dildo speaking orgasm-wise!”

“And at the other end?” I asked innocently.

Bessie blew a loud raspberry in response and said, “I don’t give a fuck…” she paused and giggled. Well, technically, that’s not true, given the situation. What I meant was, well, you know what I mean! Besides, I don’t just fuck this collection of beauties when the mood takes me. I damn well rape the wretched creatures; the harder and faster, the better for me, and there's not a thing they can do about it, not a bloody thing!”.

The woman looked as though she was about to orgasm on the spot, I thought. Bessie had closed her eyes, and her face had a funny look. Even her right hand, holding her whip, had moved down as though to touch an invisible phallus at her groin. She gave a long shudder and collected herself, then looked at me. “Now then”.

“No” I shook my head. “I’m going to measure off a number of paces, no,” I held up my hand. “I’m the guest, so we should play by my rules. Once I’m set, I’ll be the one to shout go, okay?” I didn’t wait for an answer but shook the reins and shouted hup. My ponies moved forward instantly without needing me to use the whip. Undoubtedly, the poor beasts had been listening to every word between Bessie and me. They could hardly avoid it, and it wasn’t as if they had anything else to occupy their poor, stimulus-starved minds. God, what a life!

Bessie did say something, but I missed it partly because I was concentrating on getting my proposed line straight and partly because whatever she’d said was a barely audible mixture of grumble and mumble. Maybe Cream, I thought, why not give the troublesome one a little treat? I put the thought aside. Have to win first. I stopped and looked back. A little further in front than I’d intended, but never mind, Bessie, although glaring at me, hadn’t said anything. I gave her a silly grin and looked forward at the distant wall, choosing an aiming point to steer at, then raised my whip. My hand flashed up and down twice, striking soft pony hide even as I shouted.

“Ready, GO”